


Bottom of the Bottle

by Cloud_Petersen



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Angst, Drinking, M/M, Promiscuity, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloud_Petersen/pseuds/Cloud_Petersen
Summary: Ja'far is in love with Sinbad, but his king doesn't know, and continues to sleep with less than savory characters.  He drinks to forget, and finds comfort in the embrace of a close friend.Jafar/Sinbad, but Ja'far sleeps around.





	Bottom of the Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this first chapter took me about two years to complete, because my inspiration as a writer is fragile at best, and nonexistant most of the time. I can't promise frequent updates, but I'm going to try my best. Please enjoy, and constructive criticism is welcome!

Clipped, irate footsteps echoed throughout the halls of the Sindrian castle as the king’s right hand man scowled through an armful of scrolls.  All day, Ja’far had been running errands and doing paperwork and crunching numbers. All day he’d been doing the work of an apprentice, taking on menial tasks on top of his every day duties.  In reality, he’d been doing this practically all week, and it was really starting to grate on the white haired man’s nerves. He wasn’t just some errand boy that everyone could dump their responsibilities onto!  He had to deal with that coming from Sinbad enough as it was. 

When he reached his king, and old friend’s chambers, he knocked twice before pushing the door open, looking down at the bundle of scrolls in his arms as he entered.  “Sinbad, I’ve got some documents that you need to look over and approve before I-” he started, then cut himself off when he realized what was happening. His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him, Sinbad sprawled back against his bed with the fallen magi Judar on top of him.  They were both absolutely naked, and Ja’far turned around as his face went crimson. He could feel a lump starting to form in his throat. 

“I apologize for intruding, I’ll just give these to you later.” he said with a curt bow, leaving the room before his king had a chance to respond.  He walked quickly, nearly jogging if it weren’t for the documents he held. He had half a mind to drop them, but he wouldn’t lose his composure so easily.  His feet carried him back to his office where he tossed the scrolls down haphazardly on his desk, and he sat down heavily in his chair. 

Ja’far wiped away the tears brimming in his eyes and put his face in his hands, trying his hardest not to cry.  He hated himself for being like this. He hated that he couldn’t just emotionlessly ignore when he saw Sinbad with other men or women.  He’d been in love with his king since the day Sinbad saved him, and as hard as he’s tried over the years he couldn’t make these feelings go away.  

The worst part about it all was when Sinbad started sleeping with Judar.  The magi had always been overly fond of Sinbad, and Ja’far had never trusted him.  He constantly advised Sinbad against trusting the Koh priest, but it was as if the king couldn’t hear him, or refused to.  The first night Sinbad was with Judar, Ja’far had heard them just outside Sinbad’s chamber doors. He didn’t say anything to his king about it, too hurt to acknowledge the truth.  

Now that Sinbad knew that Ja’far knew he was fucking the fallen magi, the assassin was dreading his next conversation with his king.  He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to forget…

After a few moments, Ja’far composed himself, but there was still a knot in his stomach that refused to disappear.  He knew no amount of medicine or sleep would make it go away. There was only one option he could think of to help him forget his trauma, but it wasn’t something he liked to do often.  However, after what he’d just witnessed, he was giving less and less of a damn about it. 

With a sigh, Ja’far stood, and let his feet carry him out of his office.  He didn’t really pay attention to where he was going as he walked, only knowing that if he stayed still he would drive himself up a wall. He eventually wound up in the kitchens, walking down the stairs into the cellars where all the alcohol was kept.  He frowned a bit, but went to grab a jug of strong wine. He opened it right then and there, taking a swig straight from the jug, and sighing as the alcohol lit a fire all the way down his throat and into his stomach. It lessened the knot of tension a bit, and he corked the jug again before taking it back upstairs.  

He glanced around and held the jug close to himself, not exactly wanting to be so blatant about his drinking.  He prefered to operate in a sober state, but there were some nights when he couldn’t take being sober anymore…

As he cautiously stepped out of the kitchen, he walked right into a sturdy somebody.  He reeled back, looking to see who it was with guilt in his eyes as he tried to conceal the jug of wine.  He blushed, but sighed a bit in relief when he saw that it was only Masrur. A trusted friend, and the strong silent type.  “Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” he said, though it was framed more like a request than anything else. He didn’t want word getting out that he was secretly stealing wine.  He’d never hear the end of it. 

The fanalis looked down at him with quiet, analytical eyes, his arms crossed over his broad chest.  If Masrur’s strength wasn’t intimidating as it was, the man’s size was enough to make even the proudest man submit in fear.  “I didn’t know you liked to drink.” came the man’s simple reply, to which Ja’far shrugged and slipped past him. 

“I don’t, usually.” he answered, glancing up and down the hall to make sure no one else could see them.  “But I make an exception every now and then.” he said with that fake smile of his as he tried to inch away from the interaction, wanting to get back to his bedroom to drink alone in peace.  

“Mind if I join you?” 

Ja’far froze in his tracks when he heard that, and he gave Masrur a look of surprise as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I..um, well…” he began, unsure of how to respond.  The assassin tended to behave in certain ways when he was intoxicated, that none of his close friends had been subject to before. He normally only ever drank by himself or in the presence of strangers who neither knew his name nor cared to find out.  Though, he figured that he could trust Masrur. He wouldn’t tell anyone what they said to each other in private, and he knew that the fanalis was the type of man to stop anything he didn’t like immediately. 

“Sure…” he replied finally, his cheeks tinted a light pink.  “Just don’t blame me for the way I am when I’m drunk.” he warned with a bit of a grin, before he turned around and started walking back to his room.  His heart pumped nervousness through his veins as he heard Masrur’s footsteps following behind him, and he tried not to think about it. He second guessed his decision the entire way back to his bedchamber, wondering if he should tell the man nevermind that he didn’t mean it and he preferred to be alone.  Even though he trusted that Masrur would keep everything quiet, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to let his friend see him inebriated. 

Once at his bedroom door, Ja’far sighed and took a swig of wine from the jug as he walked in, leaving the door open for Masrur to let himself in.  His room was rather tidy, all except for his desk, where books were piled carelessly and scrolls and parchments were strewn about in chaos. He organized it once every other week, but it ended up becoming a disaster so quickly that he didn’t bother to try and fix it any more often than that.  He went over to the fireplace and put a log on top of the quietly glowing embers, before sitting down in one of the chairs that sat before the hearth, motioning to the one that sat across from him. 

“I hope you don’t mind drinking out of the bottle, I don’t exactly keep any goblets in my room.” Ja’far said, taking another drink from the jug as Masrur sat down and relaxed into the seat.  He passed the jug to the fanalis man, putting his elbow on the arm of his chair and propping his chin in his hand. 

Masrur took a small sip, before handing the jug back to Ja’far, his attentive eyes taking in every detail.  “What made you decide you wanted to drink?” the man asked, and Ja’far hummed. He didn’t know if he wanted to answer that question.  At the very least, he didn’t want to answer it honestly. 

The white haired assassin shrugged and took another drink.  “I was in the mood to I suppose...this past week has been pretty stressful for me.” he said.  It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. Though his answer was believable, since Masrur didn’t push him on the subject.  

“Sinbad’s been slacking off more than usual lately, eh?” the red haired gladiator responded, and Ja’far nearly flinched at the mention of Sinbad’s name.  He controlled himself, but it caused the knot in his stomach to twist and a pang of hurt in his chest. He took a rather large gulp of wine before passing it back to Masrur.  

Ja’far gave a simple hum of agreement as he watched the fire, the alcohol bringing warmth to his cheeks.  In the brief moment of quiet, he let his mind wander to a memory from when he was young. When he, Sinbad, and Mystras got stranded at the bottom of the Valley of Death in Artemyra.  He recalled the almost moments he’d had with his king in the night when Mystras was asleep, but neither of them could manage the escape. He remembered the words they said to each other, the promises they made, and the way Sinbad’s hand held his own so gently and perfectly.  

“Ja’far?” 

The assassin snapped out of his reprieve when he realized he’d lost track of reality for the moment, and he flushed in embarrassment.  “Sorry, the alcohol must be getting to me.” he said, even though he was only buzzed at this point. He took another drink and handed it back to Masrur.  

The fanalis took the jug again, giving Ja’far a look of doubt.  “Something seems to be troubling you. I’ve never seen you like this before.” he said, a tone of concern in his voice.  Ja’far waved his hand dismissively and shook his head. 

“Something is always troubling me, Masrur.” he said, watching as the beast of a warrior took a drink.  He took the jug as it was handed back to him. “Most days I’m able to deal with my troubles. On other days, they become too much.” he added, putting his lips to the mouth of the jug and tipping it back to let the sweet alcohol warm his throat and stomach.  He took three large swigs before handing the jug back to Masrur, who raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never seen me like this before because I don’t really drink with anyone when I do. I prefer solitude.” he explained, watching the fire still as the alcohol made him dizzy.

Masrur gave a hum at that, looking down at the jug in his hand.  “Should I leave then?” he asked, to which Ja’far shook his head again.  

“No no, it’s fine.” Ja’far said, giving the red haired man a smile that wasn’t quite as uniform and fake as his normal smile.  “I trust you. I think if I were to get drunk with anyone, I’d prefer it to be you. Anyone else would start gossip and rumors immediately.” he explained, taking the jug back after Masrur took another drink. 

Masrur gave a soft chuckle then, which was uncharacteristically expressive of the usually stoic fanalis man.  It was intriguing to Ja’far, who smiled in return. “Well I’m glad you trust me.” the general said, and Ja’far nodded assuringly.  

A comfortable silence fell over them then, as they passed the jug back and forth while musing in their own introspective thoughts.  In this time, Ja’far consumed most of the wine held within the jug, not having the presence of mind to question why his companion wasn’t drinking more, what with his inate tolerance due to his genetics and all.  By this time, Ja’far was pleasantly drunk, his face flush from the effects of the alcohol. The assassin studied the fanalis across from him now, eyes flicking about to take in all the little details of Masrur’s appearance.  The fanalis was truly a beast of a man, with towering height and massive strength. His muscles were defined and looked taut and firm, and his scarred flesh looked soft regardless of the blemishes. Ja’far wondered idly how it would feel to run his hands over Masrur’s body, how his skin would feel beneath the assassin’s fingertips.  

He broke the silence then.  “Have you ever been in love, Masrur?” he asked, and the fanalis looked away from the fire to meet his eyes.  Ja’far couldn’t tell what emotion dwelled in his deep red irises. “It isn’t very rewarding...at least not for me.” he said.  He didn’t have the presence of mind in the moment to stop himself from expressing his inner emotions and thoughts. 

Intelligently, the general responded, “You mean Sinbad, don’t you?” his eyes staring back confidently, knowingly.  Ja’far flushed. There was no way he could lie now.

“Yes.” he said softly, then cleared his throat.  “I think I’m starting to realize how hopeless it really is, to love him.” he explained, pulling off his cap and running a hand through his fluffy white locks.  He was a bit overheated in his thick, layered robes. He wondered briefly if Masrur would care if he got comfortable, before dismissing it carelessly. “He doesn’t see me in that way.  He never has, and I don’t think he ever will...I’m still just a pawn to him.” he sighed dejectedly as he got up and pulled off his outer, green-trimmed robe, setting it over the back of the chair he’d been sitting in.  Underneath he wore a thin, white robe that resembled a nightgown in some ways. It was thin, loose, airy, and far more comfortable than being swaddled in his other robe as well. It covered him to just below his knees and elbows, showing just the beginnings of his countless scars from countless wounds, both self inflicted and otherwise.  

Masrur regarded him with a mild look of surprise and intrigue, but Ja’far ignored it.  He didn’t want to think anymore. “He considers you a friend. Like all of us.” the fanalis said in what appeared to be an attempt to comfort Ja’far.  The assassin couldn’t help but scoff.

He picked up the jug again, swirling the wine inside as he sat back down.  “Perhaps that’s what you think. But I feel like a dog to him. Just there to obey his orders and commands, nothing more.  The leisure of friendship isn’t afforded to me.” he answered, before deciding ‘fuck it’, and tipping the jug back, chugging the last of the wine. He set down the empty jug and sighed, covering his mouth with his hand as he let out a quiet burp.  “Sorry,” he excused himself. 

“I just wish I could forget.  Even for a little while. Feeling this way...it’s a torture worse than I have endured in my whole life.” He woed to his quiet friend.  He turned to look at the fanalis, meeting his deep, soulful eyes. “I saw him. With Judar. Walked in on them doing it, actually. I’ll never be able to get that out of my mind.” 

There was something like pity in Masrur’s eyes, which made Ja’far scowl and stand up, going over to his bed to throw himself down on the mattress. This was a dumb idea.  Why had he let Masrur join him in the first place? He didn’t need the general’s pity. “You should go. You don’t want to see me like this.” he said, his voice muffled by his blankets.

A moment later he felt a large, gentle hand on his back, and the bed dipped as Masrur’s weight settled beside him.  “You’re right. I don’t want to see you like this. I want to make you feel better.” came the fanalis’ reply. Ja’far turned his head to look at the man, eyes red from alcohol and unshed tears. 

“And how do you expect to do that?” he asked, doubting that there was anything Masrur could possibly do to make him feel better after what he’d seen.  How could he feel better when he was constantly having his heart broken, yet refusing to move on?

Masrur’s expression was impossible to read, even for Ja’far.  But maybe that was because he couldn’t exactly see straight at the moment.  “You just need to forget about him for a little while. Think about someone else.  I don’t mind being that someone for you.” Masrur said. 

Ja’far thought to himself that this was possibly the most he’d ever heard Masrur speak in one sitting, before the general’s words finally stuck.  He blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked, confused. There was no way he could be implying anything, could he?

But before he could even think, Masrur was leaning in, closing the gap between them.  His eyes went wide the moment he felt the fanalis’ breath on his lips, before the man kissed him.  In that moment, Ja’far’s mind ceased to work, all thoughts and feelings completely blank as he felt Masrur’s lips work against his.  Whether it was his shock, or their unlikely connection, Ja’far couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this was bliss compared to the turbulent storm of thoughts and emotions he was normally plagued with.  

Ja’far shuddered and his eyes closed as he savored this, being able to completely ignore how inappropriate this was, or how he was kissing his friend, or how it wasn’t Sinbad.  The kiss ended too soon for the albino, and his eyes fluttered open as he looked up at the fanalis in a daze. As Masrur pulled away to assess his reaction, Ja’far sat up, grabbing the redhead’s arm with a desperation.  “Don’t stop-” he breathed into the space between them, leaning in to close the gap again. 

Masrur met him half way, the fanalis’ strong arm curling around his waist as he leaned the assassin back onto the mattress, kissing him with a vigor that Ja’far neither expected, nor was surprised by.  He threaded his fingers through Masrur’s hair as the redhead leaned over him, sliding onto the bed, and settling between his legs to get more comfortable. 

Ja’far couldn’t think and he loved it.  He loved how blank his mind was as Masrur kissed him, and touched him with a gentleness unsuspecting of a beast like him. And this situation, this position, coupled with how drunk he was, was doing well to arouse him.  

Almost as if on cue, Masrur’s hands moved to his thighs, where they pushed up his robe, uncovering his pale and scarred body inch by inch.  Ja’far panted as Masrur pulled back so they could breathe, and also so he could pull the assassin’s robe over his head and toss it aside, baring him completely. The white haired man didn’t mind, since Masrur wasted no time in touching him again, fingertips trailing over him so lightly it might have made him ticklish.  

The fanalis grinned, his hands stopping at his groin as he cupped his already hard member, pulling a heady beath from the assassin’s lips.  Ja’far bit his lip, holding his breath and screwing his eyes shut as Masrur began to rub him, the warmth and the friction from his hand driving him up the wall.

“You don’t have to be quiet.” came the redhead’s deep and husky voice, right beside his ear.  He gasped as he felt Masrur’s lips press against his neck, caressing the vein that was pumping blood from his brain to his cock so  _ deliciously _ . His breath caught in his throat, and he remained quiet, until the fanalis squeezed his erection, and a moan ripped out of him.  

He felt the redhead grinning against his neck, and his head swam as his friend continued to stroke him and kiss and nip at his neck, pulling lewd moans out of him that he might otherwise be embarrassed of. He almost didn’t notice the clinking of the warrior’s armor coming off, but it was kind of hard not to know when it thunked heavily to the floor.  

Ja’far looked up when Masrur pulled away from his neck, his booze and lust glazed eyes scaling down the fanalis’ sturdy body in an appreciative demeanor. He wasn’t used to seeing Masrur naked, but he had to admit, he looked good.  When his gaze alighted on the redhead’s own erection, large and thick much like himself, his jaw dropped. He shouldn’t be surprised really. Masrur’s size was incredible. Why wouldn’t the rest of him be too? 

However, the fanalis seemed to enjoy his reaction.  Masrur grasped one of his legs, just above the knee, and pushed it aside to make room as he settled down, and started to rub his cock against his own.  “Oh-” Ja’far gasped, feeling the general’s member throbbing with arousal, pressing down against him. It felt different from the fanalis’ hand, and  _ so _ much better.  He felt dizzy with pleasure and excitement and his head fell back against the pillows, closing his eyes as the man he called a friend rutted against him.  

Masrur placed his other hand on the mattress beside him for balance, and Ja’far reached out to grab his forearm, holding onto him as tension began to coil in his lower stomach.  He heard the redhead give a breathy chuckle. “Do you want more?” was Masrur’s question, and for a moment, Ja’far couldn’t answer. He couldn’t think, obviously. 

But, undoubtedly, and without hesitation, he answered “Yes~” 

With that, Masrur let go of his leg, and Ja’far let it fall to the side, offering all the room he could give to the fanalis.  But the gladiator pulled back, and left Ja’far reeling as he turned the assassin onto his stomach, propping him up onto his knees.  Ja’far would probably be embarrassed by such a position if he was in his right mind, but all that was on his mind was the bliss that Masrur brought him like this, and how he wanted so much more.  

Excitement coursed through his veins like molten lava, and he gasped and shuddered when he felt Masrur’s wet fingers rubbing at his backside.  He moaned into the pillows as the fanalis massaged his opening, making him slick with spit. In just another moment, the albino gasped when he felt a thick finger begin to push into him. 

It was surprising, and perhaps a little uncomfortable, but his senses were dulled by the alcohol he’d consumed, and all he really felt was pleasure.  He twitched and tensed around the intrusion, and he heard Masrur chuckle behind him. “Relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” came the gladiator’s quiet voice.  Ja’far whined a bit, but did as he was told, trying to focus on relaxing. It was difficult as the fanalis began to pump his finger in and out of him, getting him used to the feeling.  

Contrary to popular belief, this wasn’t the first time Ja’far had ever had sex.  He had plenty of times, at least a decent amount for a man his age. (Nothing...exuberant like Sinbad’s habits) However this was the first time he’d slept with anybody in a good while, so he had to get used to it again. 

But he got back into the swing of it after just a moment, moaning out when he felt Masrur squeeze in a second finger.  He began to scissor his fingers inside Ja’far, stretching him and preparing him for his girth. But just two fingers wouldn’t be enough.  Once he deemed the albino ready, he carefully added a third. 

Ja’far was already a moaning, drooling mess as Masrur’s thick fingers worked him open, shuddering and trembling at the overwhelming sensations.  He was loving this. Loving how he couldn’t think of anything other than Masrur and how amazing this felt. He loved how Sinbad was the last thing on his mind right now. 

The white haired male whined when Masrur withdrew his fingers from his hole, leaving him twitching and empty.  “Masrur-” he got out, about to beg the gladiator to hurry up. But he was soon obliged, and he felt the redhead’s thick cock rubbing against him.  “Relax.” came the gentle command, in a voice so soothing and mellow it brought its own pleasure to the smaller male just to hear it. And then he felt Masrur begin to push into him, taking it slow and allowing him to get used to his intense size gradually.  He let out a litany of moans, all unintelligible gibberish as he was stretched past what the gladiator’s fingers were able to accomplish. Masrur took it slow, all the way until he was buried up to the hilt. 

Ja’far gasped and moaned.  His size was really something to behold, and the assassin clung to the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into the fabric.  He thought he might lose his mind from just this much.

But as soon as he was relaxed enough, Masrur began to pull back.  “Aaah-!” Ja’far gasped, the sensation of the fanalis’ thickness moving inside him making him shudder and go rigid.  The man pulled back until just the head remained inside Ja’far, before pushing back in. He didn’t stop there, beginning to build a pace.  The assassin moaned out loudly, probably too loudly, as Masrur’s hand found its way to the back of his head, and pushed his face into the pillows to quiet him. However, just because he was muffled, didn’t stop him from letting out cries of pleasure as Masrur fucked him.  

Ja’far clung to the pillows, wrapping his arms around the feathery cushion as their hips met time and time again.  The white haired male moaned into the pillows, his voice broken by the force of the gladiator’s thrusts, and his eyes began to tear up as Masrur went harder.  He was by no means in pain. Perhaps he was too drunk to feel the pain. His tears were from the pure overwhelming pleasure of it all. And the harder Masrur fucked him, the more amazing it felt.  

The hot coil of tension in his lower stomach was tightening like a noose, and he felt like he might burst at any moment.  He tried to hold back, wanting to prolong this pleasure as long as he could. But as the wet slap of their skin meeting with each thrust filled the air, accompanied by his moans, and Masrur’s quiet grunts, he felt the tension snap with a force so powerful he was seeing white.  

He spilled over onto the bedsheets, and Masrur groaned as he felt Ja’far tighten around him.  Not wanting to waste this pleasure, Masrur quickened his pace, and pounded hard into Ja’far’s small hole, wrenching loud cries from the assassin as he chased his own orgasm.  

The gladiator finished moments later, pulling out and spilling his seed onto Ja’far’s back.  The albino collapsed onto the mattress, crashing from the high of climax, his head spinning and his blood rushing in his ears.  The bliss of mindlessness persisted as he felt Masrur lay down beside him, and Ja’far slipped into beautiful unconsciousness, the exhaustion offering comfortable fatigue to his body and dragging him under blissfully…


End file.
